The outside privy

Brass monkeys formed an orderly queue outside the blacksmiths, each clutching a precious package, all requiring his metal repairing skills. It’s been that cold the last four mornings. We tend to forget how winters used to be . Talking of how things used to be, in the days before central heating, ice would form on the inside of bedroom windows. There seemed to be less cold and flu epidemics too.

On that theme, when the toilet was outside, surely that was more hygienic- indeed there was no hanging about then!
The newspaper was cut into handy size pieces and was hung on a notch behind the door- none of this colour co-ordinated soft ply tissue. There was no flush and go, but it helped the rhubarb. Indeed there were even two and three seaters, where family could evacuate “en famille”. I’m just thinking about the young chap who married and the newly weds went to live with his parents. They had an outside privy. The new bride was shown this facility. She noted that there was no bolt on the door, pointing this out to her newly acquired father-in-law. He thought about it for a while and then said “I’ve lived here for 35 years and nobody has ever stolen a bucket of **** yet!”

We have been out this morning, Murphy and I. We saw a very smart bird, sort of a watered down kingfisher - blue and reddish brown. It walked up and down the trees feeding on, I think, spiders and insects. It was using its tail to aid its climbing and boy, was it adept at this. Consulting the bird book later, I decided it must be a nuthatch.

Murphy has just had a mad burst of charging about, probably just a heat generating exercise. I couldn’t see what he was chasing, something in his imagination probably. On the ponds there is a thin layer of ice. In the ice-free areas there was a trio of little grebes. They seem to spend more time below the water than above it. Whatever they use to waterproof their feathers with must be really good stuff as the water rolls right off.

As we returned to the village, we watched a sparrow hawk flying through the trees and then under an old bridge, before disappearing. He invokes terror in the resident tit and finch populations. I suppose panic is a natural reaction if you are in danger of being eaten - not a sentiment that we can relate to.

Anyway, I will leave you with this thought.
Two of life’s underrated pleasures: scratching and sneezing.

See you,
Buggy Man